Of Rum and Golden Hair
by Ethereal-Aria
Summary: He hadn’t the slightest idea as to what to do with himself now that she was gone and never to be his… The only way he saw fit to fight this inexplicable sadness was to drown in drink after drink. Unrequited Sparrabeth. One-Shot.


**Author's note: **Hello all! How long it's been since I last posted something here... Too long, in fact. :) I've been terribly busy with life and a first boyfriend, but that's beside the point. I've never posted anything in the "Pirates" section before and I'm a tad nervous since there are a bunch of entremely talented writers here, but I love Jack and Elizabeth's relationship. It's fascinating. They possess so much natural chemistry; it's palpable. I simply had to dedicate something to them and this is it. I'm a tad nervous about this since I wrote it in about twenty minutes and it hasn't been refined yet. I couldn't - it was too raw to be tampered with and I decided to leave it up to my readers good judgement on whether it's good or not. ;) I always wondered how Jack would be affected by Elizabeth after "At World's End" and this is rather how I imagine it.

**Setting: **About five years after "At World's End" and Jack still hasn't been able to retrieve the Black Pearl.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. :(

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As the months passed since her departure, it steadily got worse.

Sometimes it was pitiful to see the great Captain Jack Sparrow dejectedly shuffling around Tortuga and moaning woeful words under his breath; some swore to see tears falling down his cheeks and several wenchs who frequented the taverns insisted they often saw him slumped over a table and sobbing uncontrollably, whispering nonsense. It seemed as if rum never left his hand and he hadn't been sober in weeks; it came to the point where many of his crew tried talking to him – pleading with him to see reason – but he dismissed them all. Not a soul could seem to appease him. The only way he saw fit to fight this inexplicable sadness was to drown in drink after drink.

He no longer possessed that jovial, infuriating spring to his step, his dark eyes no longer shone with mischievous mirth and his little, all-knowing grins glinting with gold were rarely seen anymore - his walk was now slow, his worn, leather boots dragged grimly upon the ground and were in worse shape than before; his eyes were now hollow, dim and dull - the kohl he normally applied to darken his gaze was forgotten and smudged from tears, in fact, he looked less and less like a pirate as his face was practically washed clean. His usually well-kept clothes were stained with mud, grime and rum; he sometimes passed out in alleyways and awoke the next morning dazed and disoriented and hungry for more alcohol to chase away the break in his heart. He hadn't the slightest idea as to what to do with himself now that she was gone and never to be his…

Sometimes, he accepted the Tortugan whores offers for a pleasurable night, but he rapidly became unpopular amongst the women; he always asked for them to pretend to be someone else and would often leave, upset, when they weren't enough like _her_. He was now known for demanding women with long, golden hair and fair skin, but no-one seemed to meet his expectations; it was clear there was only one woman he wanted, but it was also painfully clear that she didn't want him.

One night that had begun like all the others – an argument with his first mate and such – Jack Sparrow sat at a table in the back of another tavern he couldn't remember the name of. Quite frankly, he didn't remember much anymore except memories of _her_… She was always on his mind; he couldn't forget her, he couldn't drink her away no matter how hard he tried – she was unforgettable, Goddamn her!

Fingering his almost empty bottle of rum, he morosely fixed the dusty glass and could faintly pick out his distorted reflection. Snorting disgustedly at what he saw, he took a final, theatrical swig from the drink and then let it roll off of the roughly hewn table. He didn't even notice the rather loud clink it made when the bottle hit the stone floor; he was too busy muttering love-sick pleas.

"Elizabeth…" he murmured, running a lazy hand over his face and letting his body suddenly go slack and hit the table harshly. "Lizzie, Liz, Liz, Elizabeth," he sang with a wistful smile, "I love you," he whispered, his face darkening and abruptly changing expressions. "I love you," he spoke a little louder, straightening and looking haggardly at the other men seated at the bar a few feet away who ignored him completely. "I love you!" he howled, throwing his head back and making many people in the vicinity jump in their seats. He stayed frozen, his face tilted up to the skies in sheer abandon, for a few moments, then let his torso crash back down against the table top, sobbing forcefully.

He stayed there, splayed across the table, weeping pitifully for a long time. In fact, he was too absorbed in his misery that he didn't even notice the stranger that decided to sit himself down at his table; it wasn't until a voice called him by name.

"Jack?"

Somehow, that voice permeated his drunken fog and he glanced up with a tear-stained face. Fumbling slowly with his hands, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and dully faced the newcomer. Sniffling still and his vision blurred by leftover tears, he registered the soft features of the boy in front of him. His head was adorned with a tricorn hat, but wisps of blonde hair escaped and his eyes were a piercing shade of warm brown. He wore an over-large mahogany jacket with a white, high-collared shirt underneath that seemed to clean for a pirate. He felt like he'd seen the boy before, but couldn't quite place the lad.

"What do you want?" asked Jack with unfocused eyes, "Let me be," he pleaded with a gesture of his once graceful hands, "Let me be with _her_…" he trailed off with a warrant sob and slunk against the wall to his right, crying softly.

"Her who?" asked the stranger pointedly.

Jack subconsciously registered the fact that the boy's accent was delightful, but became annoyed at the fact that he didn't know who he was talking about; it was a sin to not know _her._

"Elizabeth," came his hoarse reply; the name was now worn and used upon his tongue, but never did his heart fail to skip a beat when those four syllables graced his lips. "Lizzie," he continued, "Miss Swann, Mrs. Turner…" His heart constricted painfully at the last one and he slammed his head drunkenly against the brick wall beside him – the trinkets in his hair clinked noisily against the stone.

If the boy knew of whom he spoke, he didn't show it, "Can't say I know her," replied the stranger, "Is she here?"

"Is she here…" chuckled the drunken pirate, "Is she here!" he exclaimed, "No, she's not Goddamn here!" cried Jack angrily, his eyes blazing, "She's gone; gone to wait for that blasted Turner boy! Gone!" After that, his furiousness ebbed away, "Away from me…" he whispered. "Away…" he whispered again, but more to himself – almost in a wistful manner. "She's married…" he said, his gaze faraway, "She's married now, you know… Married… to _him_," he spat in pure disgust. "I asked her to marry me once…" he recalled aloud, his voice bearing a tone impossible to categorize.

"What did she say to that?" asked the stranger.

"No…" sighed the Captain in frustration, "No, no, no, no, no…" and with that, his head lolled backwards and he let out a moan, "_Elizabeth_…"

"What did she look like?" prodded the boy even further.

All of these questions didn't seem to bother Jack Sparrow; in fact, it had been such a long time since he'd actually spoken of her to someone else. "She was beautiful," he mumbled, bringing his head up with a slow movement and facing his companion with a slight film over his eyes, "So, so beautiful."

"Why was she beautiful, though?" persisted the English boy.

Had Jack been sober, he would have fixed the intrusive boy with a stare that mixed incredulous and irritated so well, but – alas!- he was not and settled for answering his questions. "Her hair," he whimpered, closing his eyes rimmed with dark circles that bore the whispers of many sleepless nights, "it was pure gold and it was soft and wavy, like the sea," he reminisced. "Her lips were so red… so… delicious," he recalled with an involuntary shiver that made his bejeweled fingers tremor, "And her smell… she always smelled of mangoes and sea salt… So good." He gave a precarious lurch forward, but caught himself and continued, "Everythin' about her was beautiful," he breathed with broken eyes.

"And you loved her?" inquired the stranger quietly.

There was a silence that followed as Jack seemed to grow quiet at this. He bit down on his lip and rocked from front to back subtly for a few minutes, as if struggling with himself. In his face, his eyes darted from side to side, unseeing, and they watered and shone the more time ticked by; suddenly, the answer flew from his mouth, "I did." It was a confession. "I did," he wept softly, letting loose a sob, "I really did," he cried, covering his visage with his hands and bending over the table. "So, so much," came his muffled whisper betwixt the sobs.

The strangers face distorted into a grimace that looked pained before he reached out to pat one of Jack's stray hands.

The sudden contact made the Captains head rise abruptly from the table and he stared deeply into the boys eyes for long, long minutes that made the stranger nervous. Jack Sparrows eyebrows twitched in concentration, but then he sighed heavily and his breath was laced with a chuckle, "Goin' crazy, I am," he muttered cryptically to himself as he leaned dejectedly upon the wall to his right; unconsciously, his hands twitched for more rum, but he was exhausted. He'd never spoken so much of her to anyone.

"Do you think there's a purpose to one's life, lad?" asked Jack with a faraway expression on his face.

"Of course," replied the stranger, leaning forward in his chair and observing the captain of the Black Pearl as if he'd known him for years, "Have you figured yours out yet?"

Jack closed his eyes for a split second before replying with a hesitant, "I think so."

"You; the great Captain Jack Sparrow, only _thinks _he knows his purpose in life?" laughed the boy and Jack couldn't help but faintly feel as if he were talking to... never mind.

"Of course I know," he answered irritably, not liking the boys company quite as much anymore, "I jus' wasn't sure if you'd mock me for it," said the captain, shifting in his seat.

"Do tell," urged the boy.

"Lovin' her," answered Jack seriously, "Knowin' her, bein' around her, just havin' kissed her once…" he mumbled tremulously, "'Tis all enough for me, but…" he shuddered and shook his head with a sad smile upon those lips, "I can't help but want… more. She drives me crazy," he said with his voice dropping to a whisper. Leaning in closer, he spoke, "Do you know how many nights I've lost just thinkin' about her…" he shivered and his skin crawled delightedly, "Just wantin' her with everything I 'ave…" he let himself trail off from his passionate confession. "I don't know when I'll ever see her again," he said distractedly as if he were sinking back into the depths of his despair, "I bloody miss her," he groaned, sinking back into his chair, "No woman does anythin' for me anymore… They don't compare… At all. They're not _her_," he concluded with a deep breath and an air of finality.

The stranger fell silent and he and Captain Jack Sparrow merely sat without saying a word for the next hour or so. Eventually, Jack fell asleep on the table after a few moments of whispering things to himself – only bits were understandable, such as: "Elizabeth" and "I love you" – and, when he began to whimper was when the stranger decided to leave – it was all becoming much too unbearable.

That night, Elizabeth Turner opened the door to the room she'd rented above the tavern with the heavy brass key she kept in the pocket that traveled down her calf and, with a heavy heart, removed her tricorn hat and let her golden hair fall down her shoulders from its prison. Next, she wiped her brown eyes in case she'd unwittingly began to cry and, unsurprisingly, she found tears caught up in her eyelashes. Striping herself of that hideous, mahogany jacket she wore to the bars and undoing the first few buttons of her white blouse underneath, she sat on her rickety bed and sobbed.

Sobbed for the man who'd life she ruined, sobbed for the life she couldn't help but imagine with him and sobbed for the part of her that still loved him.

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**Final note: **I sincerely hope that you all liked it. They're incredibly difficult characters to write and I hope that I did them justice. All in all, I'd love, love, love to hear from you all it's my readers who keep me going with their much, much appreciated comments. Thank you:)


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